


Trans Fusion

by elynross



Category: Blood Ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynross/pseuds/elynross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vicki tells Mike that he better figure out his Henry issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trans Fusion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lucy, Lys, and soo, for their help and/or inspiration.
> 
> Written for vitch

 

 

Things were rotten in the state of Celluci, and Mike blamed the damn vampire.

There was a small voice in the back of his head arguing that Vicki was every bit as much to blame—and an even smaller one that quietly claimed he had nobody to blame but himself. Given how he and Vicki had crashed and burned the first time, why had he ever thought it a good idea to try again?

But mostly, he blamed Henry Fitzroy. Before the little dark prince swanned into their lives, Vicki had been every bit as maddening and impossible, but she hadn't been targeted by monsters and demons. Now Mike sometimes felt like he didn't even know her anymore, as if she were more Henry's Vicki than his. And before Fitzroy, Mike's job had been a normal cop's job, hunting down normal scum of the earth. He hadn't regularly risked his sanity _and_ his badge getting caught up in the latest Nelson Investigations (and company) foray into the supernatural.

The only thing that had saved his career—what was left of it—was that the review board had been a little more impressed with his results than dismayed by Crowley's report of his unorthodox methods and insubordination. Mike suspected they'd also been impressed by Oliver Tang's direct intervention on Mike's behalf, as Kate had made it clear exactly who had provided the tip that led to his daughter's safe return. Tang had flown over from Hong Kong during the search for Hannah, and Kate had reported that the whole department heard him dress Crowley down for having put the detective responsible for saving his daughter's life on suspension. 

So now he owed his career to the very thing that had nearly brought him down: the supernatural crap that seemed to follow Vicki's every move since she'd met Henry Fitzroy. Without the vision the demon had given him, he'd still be off the job; he'd be drinking too much, thinking about Vicki too much but staying away (although he'd called and told Coreen he'd gotten his badge back, knowing she'd tell Vicki) and stalking the damn vampire. 

Instead, he was _on_ the job, drinking too much, thinking about Vicki too much, and sitting in his car down the street from Fitzroy's building at sunset, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. Back on the job less than a week, and he couldn't seem to let go of the angry obsession that had led him to following Fitzroy around for the length of his suspension, trying to figure out what it was that tempted the otherwise rational, sensible Vicki Nelson to throw her whole life away. To throw _him_ away. 

Crowley was up his ass even more than she had been before his suspension, but Mike hadn't given her anything to latch on to. That this was only because he hadn't talked to or heard from Vicki since the night he'd walked out and left her with Henry, a just recently unpossessed Coreen still chained to the bed, hadn't escaped his attention. The echo of Henry asking Vicki to leave Toronto was still ringing in his ears.

What he thought following Fitzroy would get him, he didn't know, other than probably dead, if the little prince ever figured it out. It kind of surprised Mike he hadn't already, given those supposed super senses of his, but Henry seemed a little distracted, as far as Mike could tell. He'd spent most of the last three weeks holed up in his apartment, apart from trips out "for a bite," as Mike bitterly thought of them. Fitzroy didn't even go out every night; some nights the door man let in some startling attractive women that Mike came to think of as "ordering in." Fitzroy walked just about everywhere, so Mike had walked, too, following him to one busy, noisy hot club after another, never the same one too often. He didn't get too close, but that didn't stop him from seeing the pretty young things Henry dallied with, the obvious pleasure they had in his...company. 

Mike couldn't figure it, at all. His own experience with Fitzroy's technique had been nothing but painful. In fairness, he probably shouldn't use that as a guide, but Mike was feeling far from fair, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would let Henry that close voluntarily. 

Why Vicki would. It ate at him, wondering what it was Fitzroy did to her, to these other women, these other _men_ , that had them welcoming him with open arms—and open veins. Why they—why _Vicki_ —let this— this _creature_ have such power over her 

All Mike had learned was that Fitzroy must be able to make the experience very pleasurable, and maybe that was enough for some people. He tried not to think about how for Vicki, it was obviously more than that. He also didn't spend much time asking himself exactly what it was he was hoping to learn, and why he hadn't given up and gone home.

The only positive thing to come from it was that he knew Fitzroy hadn't seen Vicki once in all that time; he hadn't gone to her, and she hadn't come to his place, at least not at any point up to the near-dawn hours. That was the point at which Mike finally went stumbling home, catching a few hours sleep before heading to the precinct. He couldn't keep this up for long, now that he could no longer sleep most of the day. 

He was almost ready to call it a night, get home not too far after midnight, for once, when he saw Fitzroy leaving his apartment, turning left out of his building and moving at a pretty good clip. Most of his usual haunts were in the other direction, but once or twice he'd just gone walking, not anywhere in particular. Maybe this was another one of those nights. Mike debated with himself for thirty seconds or so, until Fitzroy was far enough away that Mike might lose him if he didn't move, and whatever the lure was, it was still too strong for Mike to give up. He was up and out of the car, on Fitzroy's trail, in seconds.

Mike almost lost him a couple of times when he turned corners; he started to wonder if Fitzroy was on to him. But he'd look around the next corner, and there he was, a good distance ahead, but not too far to stay with. The buildings got more and more rundown, more commercial, with sleazy strip clubs and adult stores taking the place of sleek apartment buildings and law firms. The last corner Mike turned, he saw Henry crossing the street, and a boy on the corner waved him over.

And even though the kid was taller than Henry, he was clearly still a boy, the kind of boy who should be home having dinner with his folks, throwing a football around with his dad. Instead, here he was, torn jeans and mesh shirt, pierced eyebrow and too much makeup, and none of that was a particular issue, apart from the slow-driving cars trawling the corner for a quickie.

His greeting to Henry was affectionate, a big smile, arms open wide, and Fitzroy turned just enough that Mike could see the smile returned. He stayed on the opposite side of the street, watching them talk, the boy laughing and gesturing, making Henry laugh. The boy was too thin, but he seemed healthier than a lot of kids in his position.

Fitzroy and the boy started walking down the street together, his arm around the boy's waist. Mike only crossed the street when they turned into an alley, ignoring the cat calls and come ons from the rest of the hustlers loitering on the corner. At the mouth of the alley, he paused, then peered around the corner. At first he didn't see anything, but he heard a couple stifled moans that told him they weren't too close to the street. Then his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see that the alley ended in a locked fence, and Henry had the kid up against the fence. Mike had expected to see the usual, the boy's face showing his enjoyment, while Henry's face was buried against his throat, but this time was different. This time, Henry Fitzroy's face was buried significantly further down than the kid's throat.

Mike almost forgot himself and cleared his throat. The sight was somehow shocking, more blatantly sexual than most of Henry's encounters, at least those that Mike had seen. The boy had his hand tangled in Henry's hair, the other to his mouth as if to stop sound from escaping, and he was clearly enjoying himself. 

Mike braced a hand on the brick wall of the alley, unable to not watch, unable to look away. He knew he was aroused, but he didn't realize how hard he'd gotten until the boy shuddered and relaxed, his hand moving to cling to the chain-link fence, and Henry's head turned so that he was staring directly at Mike.

Any hope that Fitzroy didn't know _someone_ was there disappeared as Mike staggered back, knocking a can with his foot. The clatter was loud in his ears, the sound of the activity on the street faint and far away. Expecting any second to feel Henry's hand on his shoulder, Mike took off, walking quickly, but not quite running.

The hand didn't come, and Mike breathed a sigh of relief when he was several blocks away. That was it; whatever fascination Fitzroy held, for Vicki or anyone else, Mike Celucci was done with it. He'd throw himself into his job, his plain, ordinary cop's job. Maybe Vicki would come to her senses, maybe she wouldn't, but this stupidity was only going—

One second Fitzroy wasn't there, the next he was, stepping out of another alley in front of Mike, far too close, a smug smile on his face. "Going somewhere, detective? You seem to be in a hurry."

Mike was at a complete loss; he couldn't even come up with any half-witted bluster to try and explain his way out of it, so he didn't try. "Out of my way, Fitzroy."

"How about you return the favor?" Fitzroy said. "You've spent the last few weeks entirely too much in my business." Celucci frowned, and Henry smiled. "You thought I didn't know?" 

Fitzroy stepped in closer, and it was all Mike could do to not back away. It didn't seem to matter how many inches he had on him, in height and breadth; Fitzroy loomed. 

"You give me far too little credit, _detective_ ," Fitzroy said, the last word entirely mocking. "I could see you, sitting there in your car, night after night, from my window. I could hear you, I could _smell_ you, all those nights you followed me, even through the stench of bodies that you thought hid you." His eyes went black, his teeth sharpened. " _You are my prey_ , you and your fellow mortals, and your pathetic attempts to conceal yourself are entirely pointless. I'm actually insulted; you know what I am, and yet you thought that I wouldn't know you were there."

Fitzroy closed his eyes and tilted his head, as if listening, and sniffed, and Mike was vividly aware that his heart was pounding, his cock was still hard. That it was hard again. All of his usual bravado seemed to melt away, and he just stood there, silently, waiting for Henry to let him go. If he let him go. 

"Well, well, Michael. Is there something you haven't been telling me?" Fitzroy opened his eyes again, his smile bigger, his voice dark and promising. "Did you enjoy the show, then?"

Somehow, Mike found his voice. "Is that what it was? A show, for my benefit? You shouldn't have." 

Fitzroy bared his teeth a little more at the taunting tone of Mike's voice. 

"No, really, I mean it, you shouldn't have. Is that boy even legal? Or do you get off on that? How young _do_ you like them, Fitzroy?" It was unfair, and Mike knew it, and he didn't care, and he couldn't stop. "Does Vicki know that you go after children? It's disgusting, using a kid like that to—"

He stopped, not because he was done—although he had no idea what he would have said next—but because Henry had him by the throat, and suddenly Mike was on the tips of his toes, trying to breathe.

"Don't push me too far, Celucci. The fact that Vicki cares for you is the only—" He dropped Mike as suddenly as he'd grabbed him, and Mike stumbled and almost fell. 

"Only thing keeping me alive? Is that what you were going to say?" Mike taunted, rubbing his throat, his voice raspy. "Are you threatening an officer of the law, Fitzroy?"

Fitzroy seemed to have recovered his cool, and retracted his fangs. "Don't be ridiculous, detective. If I wanted you... Well, let's just say that I don't think I'd have to work very hard." He raked his eyes slowly up and down Mike's body, and in spite of the violence of just moments before, Mike responded. Fitzroy smiled again. "Maybe you ought to think about what it is you really want from me, Michael. Just remember, I never take the unwilling.

He was gone as fast as he'd appeared.

  


* * *

  


Mike made it back to his car, but he didn't really remember getting there. Then he just sat, hands on the wheel, stunned, staring blankly, trying not to think about what had just happened. Finally, not wanting to see Fitzroy again, he started driving. 

Like he could see Henry, if Henry didn't want him to. That thought was unsettling, but not as terrifying as he thought it probably should be. 

He drove blindly, not really paying attention to where he was going, confused, calling himself every kind of idiot. When he looked around, he realized he was about two blocks from Vicki's apartment—the last place he should be going, particularly at this time of the night. Hell, she might not even be there; half the time she slept at her office. Even so, he parked in front of her building, blood sizzling with anger, arousal, and confusion. 

When he stood in front of her door, hand raised to knock, he realized that mostly, he just wanted an excuse to see her. He knew he should leave, but his hand was already in motion. 

It took her a couple minutes to get to the door, and he could hear her yelling, "Alright, alright, I'm coming, do you _know_ what time it is?" 

When she opened the door, dressed in a hastily dragged on robe, she looked exhausted, more than just a lack of sleep would account for. He wondered what kind of monster was keeping her up at nights. 

"Mike." The hurt, the hope in her face was painful to see, but he was too angry, too befuddled for even that to stop him, and he pushed in past her, already yelling. 

"Did you know that he preys on _children_?" He didn't care that he was being unfair again, that whatever Fitzroy did wasn't actually Vicki's fault. She worked with him, she _wanted_ him, she was willing to—

"Why, hello, Vicki, nice to see you!" Vicki said, turning to watch him stalk past. "Yeah, Mike, it's been a while. How am I? I'm good, mostly. Working hard, not getting a lot of sleep, and there's this guy who can't seem to tell what fucking time it is showing up on my doorstep, yelling at me." 

She yawned, and Mike felt a guilty, which just made him angrier. " _Did_ you?" 

The door didn't quite slam. "What are you talking about, and why are you following Henry?" 

"I didn't say I was following him." 

"There you go again, underestimating me. Like I've told you, I'm a _private detective_ , detective. I'm smart; I can figure things out. If you know that Henry is, is feeding from children— _which I doubt_ —then you must be following him around to see who he's feeding _on_."

Now she looked angry, and that got Mike's pulse racing, too. Their fights had always been almost as much fun as anything else. "Look, I saw him on the street, with this hustler that couldn't have been more than fifteen, _maybe_ sixteen. Does that bother you at _all_?"

Vicki rolled her eyes. "In the first place, Henry's business is his own; I trust him, and at this point, I'd think you might start to, too. In the second place, I know there's at least one kid Henry's trying to get _off_ the street, his name's Tony, I think. He may be young, but he's been on the street for a while, and he's hardly a _child_. Henry would never do anything to hurt him, and he wouldn't do anything Tony didn't agree to." 

"You think that _excuses_ him?" Mike asked in disbelief. 

" _Cut it out_!" Vicki yelled. "I don't know what this is about, but you know as well as I do that Henry isn't that kind of man." 

"He isn't a man at all!" Mike yelled right back. 

That shut her up, and she just looked at him, still angry, but even more unhappy. "Is that what this is about? You don't care about the kid. At least, that's not what you're really angry about. It's me and Henry." She wrapped her arms around herself, and fell onto the sofa. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I haven't seen him since the last time I saw you, and he's planning on leaving town." 

Mike walked closer, but he was still too wound up to sit down. He didn't want to ask, but he couldn't stop himself. "If he did, would you go with him?" 

Vicki didn't speak for a moment, then, "He asked me to." 

"I know," Mike admitted. "Are you going to go?" 

She shook her head. "I... I don't think I could. I have a life here, a job. People I care about. And I _know_ this place, I can still work here. Someplace else..." She pointed at her eyes, in their thick glasses. "Someplace else, it would be harder." She looked up at him.

He noticed she didn't say that she didn't want to, but just the fact that she wouldn't go, that she'd choose— 

He shook his head. "If you love him, maybe you should be with him." The words hurt even as he said them. 

She laughed, but it was bitter. "Somehow I don't see myself grocery shopping and hanging curtains with Henry Fitzroy." 

"I can't much see you grocery shopping and hanging curtains with anybody," Mike said quietly, and he finally sat down. "You aren't a shopping and curtains kind of girl." 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Vicki sniffed, and Mike realized she was crying. That quick he was up out of his chair, she was in his arms, and he was apologizing. "I'm sorry, Vicki, I just. I can't do this anymore. I don't know what you _want_. Who you want. If anyone." 

She laughed again, then hiccuped, and he held her tighter, until she pushed away. "Funny, you know, in this whole thing, nobody's ever even asked me what I want. Or who I want. You've just been growling at each other like a couple of dogs fighting over a bone, and I _hate_ that." 

She got up and got a kleenex, and blew her nose. "I hate it," she repeated. "As if, even if one of you could _win_ , that would decide anything! I'm not a bone, you can't just pick me up like some kind of prize!" 

"Vicki, I don't—"

"Do you know what I want? I want _both_ of you, in my life. I want that to work, _somehow_ I want that to work. I don't know how, and I really don't think either of you are willing to let it happen, but—" her voice broke, "—dammit, I care about both of you, and I'm so fucking tired of this." She fell back on the couch, dabbing at her nose and eyes. 

Mike started to say something, but she jabbed her finger at him. "And _you_. Get over it! Get over Henry, dammit. Whatever your issues are, with him, with me, with my working with him, with my— Just deal with them, somehow, if you're going to keep being in my life. I can't take this anymore. I mean, if Henry leaves—" and her voice was rough again, "—then I suppose it doesn't matter, but if he doesn't, I have to be able to trust you both, trust that you can get along." She looked at him accusingly. "Get along in situations _besides_ those where you're trying to keep me from finding out about something." 

"I don't know that I can, Vicki." 

"I trust you, Mike. I know I've screwed your life up in the last year; I don't _want_ to do that anymore, I don't want to be that person. Oh," she looked at him, "I'm glad you got your badge back, by the way." 

He shrugged. "Just made Crowley madder'n hell." 

"Good," she said with some satisfaction, and he grinned. 

"I need you, Mike. I don't need Celluci the cop—" she stopped at his disbelieving look. "You aren't the only friend I have on the force, you know, and Rajani _likes_ it when I bring her crazy shit." 

"Yeah, but who else is going to _believe_ the crazy shit you bring and come carrying a gun?" 

"Point. Although guns aren't always very effective." 

He just looked at her. "You were saying you needed me." He was proud that his voice was even. 

"I need to know I can depend on you, that I can trust you. I _can_ trust you, I know that. And I trust Henry. And I know that Henry will trust you _because_ I trust you. I just need you to stop provoking him, fighting with him. You're not going to win; _nobody's_ going to win. Even if he leaves town," she said tiredly, dropping her head down into her hand. 

He cupped the back of her neck with his hand and started rubbing. "I liked it better when I was angry about all this." 

She groaned and arched her neck under his fingers. "What is it you're angry about, exactly?" 

"I—" He stopped. He wanted to be honest, but when he thought about it, he had to admit he wasn't entirely sure. "He makes me _so angry_ ," he said lamely. 

"Well, that clears that right up," she said dryly. 

He stood up abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "And so do you!" he said. "What _is_ it about him? When you first met him, you thought he was some kind of serial killer. Then you find out, oh, he just _drinks blood_ , that's okay, then!" He whirled around to look at her, sitting there. "It doesn't make him any less a monster, Vicki, any less unnatural. Do you think I don't know he killed Kelly Perkins? Rajani said it was the cleanest broken neck she'd ever seen." 

"He was trying to save me!" 

"How many other people has he killed? Am I supposed to just ignore that? Or this kid, do I ignore that? Doesn't it bother you?" He hated that he sounded almost pleading. 

"What are you asking? Does the kid's age bother me? I'm not crazy about it, but I trust Henry. Does Henry going to hustlers bother me? Why should it, any more than anyone else he goes to?" 

"Doesn't _that_ bother you?" 

Her smile was grim. "I know he has to feed more often than I could supply, even if I made myself more available to him. Knowing Henry has been an interesting exercise in learning the limits of friendship and relationships." 

"Why do you let him feed off you? Why do all these people just let him _do_ that?" Even to himself, he sounded more bewildered than disgusted, and he remembered his arousal. 

"Is that really what bothers you about Henry? Or is it that I care about him?" she accused. 

"I just—" 

"What is it, Mike? I've dated other people since we broke up a few years ago, you didn't act that way about them." 

"Well, they weren't vampires, now, were they?" 

"Forget about that, I don't think that's what gets to you at all," she said. "It's something about Henry, about Henry _as a man_ , that gets to you." 

He shoved his hand into his hair, making it stand up. "Maybe it's because you seem more serious about him than any of the others!" 

Vicki didn't look surprised; she just looked considering. "I... don't think that's it. Not unless you want me to be more serious about you." 

"You know I do." 

Vicki shook her head. "I know you want me, that we have a great time together. I— I _care_ about you, a lot. But can you see us picking out curtains together any more easily than me and Henry?" 

Maybe it was his imagination, but she sounded almost wistful. "There's more to it that picking out curtains," he said. Then he remembered her earlier words, and he sat back down. Maybe she'd already answered the question, but maybe he needed to hear it again. "What do you want, Vicki? Do you even know?" 

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm tired, Mike. I want to not be tired all the time. I want to know that the men in my life, _both_ of them, trust me and each other enough to not be part of the problem. That they have my back, when Asteroth shows up again. And I don't want either of you to leave." She blew her nose again. "Now, tell me, how are we going to figure that out?"

He sat there for a while, thinking, about Henry, about his reactions to Henry, about what had happened to him when he saw Henry with the young hustler. "When you—" he stopped, trying to figure out what he wanted to ask. "When you say you want us both in your life, what do you mean by that? Because things haven't worked out all that well so far, and I can't exactly see us as one big happy family." The implications of that last part only hit him after the words were out of his mouth. 

"I...don't really know," Vicki said carefully, without looking at him. Then she glanced at him side-long. "Why?"

Mike shivered slightly. "I don't think any of us share very well." 

"...Henry does. And... maybe I could learn." 

Mike shivered again.

  


* * *

  


Mike walked for blocks, trying to sort out what he was thinking, what he was _feeling_. He couldn't deny that Henry raised an unholy mix of feelings in him, pun intended; he'd always assumed that anger was the primary one, and that was something he could deal with. If there was anything a Celluci knew how to do, it was be angry. 

But his reaction to watching Henry with the hustler, while it had caught him off-guard, hadn't been entirely unfamiliar. There were a few experiments in his past that even Vicki didn't know about; there'd just never been anyone who made him want it to be more than an experiment. The thought that Henry...

The thought stirred up the pooled heat in his belly, and he decided he was losing his ever-fucking _mind_. Did that glamour or whatever of Henry's work at a distance? He wished he'd asked Vicki about that—but then again, she'd have wanted to know why, and he _really_ wasn't ready for that.

He wasn't sure he liked the sense of relief he felt at the possibility. Fitzroy had been in his mind, twice that Mike knew of, once uninvited, and once at Mike's demand. Could that have made Mike more susceptible to him? Some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion?

Even as he considered it, that annoying little voice inside, one that now sounded unsettlingly like Fitzroy himself, mocked him for seeking this kind of escape from his own desires. 

Was that it? Did he _want_ Henry Fitzroy, the short, maddening dark prince that seemed to bedazzle people with a flash of a smile? Did he think he was the only one immune to him? Was all that anger nothing more than thwarted desire?

Well, no. A _lot_ of it was good old-fashioned fury, at the high-handedness, the smugness, the mockery, the insolence—

Damn it. It was exactly the kind of thing that had first attracted him to Vicki, that made them competitive, that led them to bickering and fighting. She still pissed him off like nobody else... until Henry Fitzroy.

He was so doomed. 

Fortunately, it was too late—or too early—to do anything about any of it tonight. He'd go home, try and get some sleep... maybe after a cold shower.

The next day was interminable. He snapped at Kate, Crowley made it her job to assign him the most straightforward, uninteresting case possible, and Kate snapped back as a combination of both of these. He worked late and caught up on more paperwork than he might have ever before in his life. Then he went to a restaurant and forced himself to eat dinner, drinking most of a bottle of wine with it. He really wanted to go to a bar and have a few drinks, but he thought if he did he might just not leave. 

Fifteen minutes after he finished, he stood in front of Fitzroy's door, just as he had Vicki's, hoping Fitzroy wasn't home.

The door opened much sooner than he was ready to knock.

"Detective," Henry drawled. "I could hear your heart racing from across the room. What brings you to my humble abode? Can I..." He looked Mike up and down, like he had the night before, and Mike reacted in spite of himself. "...do something for you?"

Mike clenched his jaw, and Henry looked even more smug, if that were possible. "Fitzroy— Henry. I... Look, don't do that, okay?" Mike felt raw and vulnerable, and if Henry didn't give him a break, Mike was going to smash him right in the face. And that wouldn't help anything. Probably. "Can I come in?"

Henry blinked, then stood back without a word, holding the door open. He waited until Mike was standing inside, hands in his pockets, before he said anything more, and when he did, his voice was neutral.

"What can I do for you? Is Vicki okay?"

Mike turned away from him, looking out the window, running his hand up and down the back of his neck. "She's okay, more or less. She's not very happy." 

"You've seen her." It wasn't a question, and Henry didn't sound very happy, himself. They were quite a threesome, everybody miserable. 

Mike nodded. "Just last night, though. Otherwise, I haven't seen her since that night, either."

He heard Henry's sigh, and wondered if it was affected, or habit, and realized how little he knew about vampires. About Henry. He hadn't wanted to know.

The silence lingered as Mike utterly failed to figure out what he was going to say. What he wanted to say. He could feel Henry's gaze on his back. Was that another vampire thing, or just a normal nervous human thing?

"Did you want something, detective? Because I was just getting ready to go out for something to eat. Of course, you could always follow me, like you have been for the past several weeks." 

"Mike." Mike turned to look at him. 

"Excuse me?" Henry looked nonplussed, and that made Mike more comfortable than he had been in days. 

Mike cleared his throat. "My name. It's Mike." 

"Mike," Henry said thoughtfully. "Michael," and this time his tone was darker, and Mike wasn't so comfortable anymore.

"Um. Yeah, so... About why I'm here." 

Henry leaned against the back of the sofa. "Do tell. I'm all ears." 

Mike had no idea where to start, so he just opened his mouth to see what would come out. "Vicki doesn't want you to leave. Toronto, that is. She doesn't want you to leave Toronto." 

Henry looked at him narrowly. "And what does that have to do with you? I can't see Vicki sending you over as some kind of modern-day John Alden." He grinned. "Although—" 

"No!" Mike interrupted. "She didn't send me. Exactly."

"What exactly _did_ she do?"

Mike took a deep breath. "She said we have to start...getting along. Or work things out. Or something."

"Miracles can happen," Henry said dryly. "But since I am leaving, it's not necessary." He bowed, extravagantly, elegantly, even in his torn jeans and three-quarter sleeved T-shirt. "I abandon the field to you." 

When Henry stood back up, there was a distant look in his eye, and for the first time Mike believed that he was descended from royalty, and he caught his breath. 

"Vicki _doesn't want you to leave_ , Henry." Mike wanted to grab hold of him, shake him, _something_. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Henry snarled, his dispassionate pose discarded. "What is it to you, _Michael_ Celucci?" The emphasis on Mike's name was disdainful, mocking. "Wouldn't it be better for you if I left? If I'd never come here at all?"

Less than twenty-four hours ago, Mike would have given a resounding _Yes_ to this; now he just stood there, feeling clumsy and stupid. And suddenly, Henry was right in front of him, so fast, too close; Mike hadn't seen him move, and now he couldn't take a deep breath without touching him.

He wanted to touch him.

Instead, he gave in, took a step backwards, but Henry followed him, his eyes just a little wild. "Isn't that what you want, Michael? For me to be out of Vicki's life, so you can move back into it?"

Mike struggled to control his breathing; Henry's closeness was making him hard again, but this time he held his position and looked down into those dark eyes. "What makes you think," he said, "that just because you leave, Vicki will want me back? Do you think your leaving will mean so little to her?"

"She loves you," Henry spat. "Why do you think she won't come with me?"

At that, Michael laughed. Things were no less strained after, but it felt good. "C'mon, Henry, you know Vicki better than that." He let himself put his hands on Henry's shoulders, and that felt good, too; Henry tensed, but did not move.

What do you mean?" Henry asked. His voice was rough, thickened. Mike's pulse sped up, and he knew that Henry knew it, and he didn't care.

"She loves you, too, you idiot. She loves us both, even if she can't say it. Losing either of us... She'd never show it, but it would break her heart."

Henry's eyes darkened further, and Mike thought maybe he could see the very edges of his fangs starting to protrude. For the first time, the sight neither scared him nor repulsed him. Maybe it never truly had.

"She wants us to work this out. To figure out whatever... Whatever _this_ is." He squeezed Henry's shoulders, and Henry stiffened. Then he smiled, wickedly, and Mike was sure about the fangs.

Henry brought his hands up to rest on Michael's hips. "And you, Michael?" He lingered over the name. "What do _you_ want? Is this just something you're doing for Vicki? Lie back and think of our darling private eye?"

Before Mike could think, before he could even _breathe_ , he was pressed up against the wall, and Henry was pressed up against him, fangs fully extended. Mike's breath came hot and fast, and he _couldn't_ think. He knew Henry was strong, he'd seen that strength many times, but this—

"Well?" Henry asked, his voice low and dark, and it made Michael shiver.

"I don't— I want—" Mike couldn't get his breath to say anything, and he no longer had anything to say. "Yes," he breathed. "Do it." And then, " _Please_ ," as Henry hesitated. 

Henry looked at him as if shocked, his eyes back to normal, his fangs retracted, and Mike could feel nothing but disappointment and desire, no relief. It wasn't that he had no fear; his previous experience of Henry's bite had been incredibly painful. But he could also remember the look on the kid's face the night before, the look in Vicki's eyes, and he knew it didn't have to be like that.

Henry started to back away, shaking his head in disbelief. "No," he said. "This isn't you. You're doing this out of some misguided loyalty to Vicki, something—"

Mike held on to his shoulders tightly, knowing Henry could easily get away, but hoping he wouldn't. " _No_ ," he said. "I thought it was that, or that it was something you were _doing_ to me, that you do to all those people—" He stopped at the anger that crossed Henry's face, followed by that cool, distant, mocking look. He hated that look. It put all the distance Henry needed between them, without Henry moving a step. And if they didn't go through with this, Mike wasn't sure he'd have the courage to do it again.

"I told you, detective, I don't need to take the unwilling. But if I _had_ used my 'wiles' on you, you wouldn't have any doubt at all about what you're doing."

"And I told you, _Henry_ , that my name is Mike. Michael." Then Mike kissed him, and knew that this time, he really had lost his mind.

Henry resisted at first, but it was token; Mike knew that real resistance would end up with Henry halfway across the room—or Mike all the way across it. Then any resistance was gone, and Mike's knees went ridiculously weak. Henry had four hundred years of experience, and it was very clear that he knew just how to use it.

Having given in, Henry took over, and Mike found that for once, he didn't care. He learned just how fast Henry could move as his coat and jacket just _disappeared_ , his shirt was open wide, and Henry's mouth was moving, much more slowly, over Mike's chest. He drew the flat of his tongue over one of Mike's nipples, then bit with sharp teeth. There was a knife-edge of pain, then a flare of hot, sweet pleasure that shot straight to his cock, and he bucked slightly.

Henry laughed, and it was deep and rich, and curled along Mike's nerves, little flickers of pleasure spiking.

Mike took a deep breath. "I always wondered what it was you had going for you," he said with difficulty.

"Oh, detective," Henry said, licking a drop of blood from his lips, eyes fully dark. This time the mockery sounded tender to Mike's ears. "We're just getting started."

As his hands started working at Mike's belt, Mike thought he might actually pass out. Instead, he watched, unable to move, not _wanting_ to move, as Henry slid down his body, nails raking over his skin.

"I thought you were hungry," Mike said, and knew that Henry heard the striving-to-be-casual note in his voice when he smiled again. Then the smile faded.

"Are you really sure, Michael?"

For some reason, this pissed Mike off as he stood there, cock rigid between them. "What am I, sixteen? Do I _look_ fragile to you? For God's sake, _do it_." _Before I start begging_ , he thought. 

Henry laughed softly at Mike's eagerness, then stripped down Mike's pants and very intentionally took his time, licking and lipping along Mike's cock, along his thighs, teasing touches that had Mike threading one hand through Henry's long dark hair, while the other splayed against the wall, lacking a chain-link fence to cling to. Words started spilling from his mouth, in Italian, the language he reserved for the direst of circumstances, calling Henry every name he could think of, repeating none of them, and he really had quite an amazing repertoire. 

Henry laughed again, and it was a sound of delight, a more thoughtless, genuine laugh than Mike had ever heard from him. He looked down at him, and Henry smiled, licking his lips, and Mike nodded.

Henry pressed in close, his mouth seeking the pulsing vein. Mike braced himself for the expected pain, but it hurt no more than a sharp sting, and then the thick flood of pleasure overwhelmed any fear, any doubt. He could feel his heartbeat, throbbing in his ears, and he knew that it beat in time with Henry's drinking. The sensations as Henry fed were intense, different than anything he'd ever felt, and he thought he might have whimpered.

When Henry had fed on him before, it had been nothing but pain, a feeling like his life force was leaving him. This time, Henry was in control, gentle, taking without attacking, and Mike somehow knew that Henry felt his pleasure, knew exactly what he was doing to Mike, and took his own pleasure in it. 

Henry finished, leaving Mike trembling and spent, and continued licking the small wound, sending shivers up Mike's spine. He let go of Henry's hair, but stroked his fingers through it, lightly. He was dazed, and it didn't really surprise him when he realized he was lying back on Henry's couch, dressed in nothing but his pants, and Henry was offering him a glass of wine, before sitting next to him. Mike let his hand slide down to rest on Henry's back and sipped his wine. His throat was a little sore, so he didn't talk. At least, that was his excuse.

Henry looked flushed and lazy-eyed, replete. Mike felt a little smug about that.

"So," Henry said. 

"So."

Henry leaned in and kissed him again, deeply and thoroughly, and Mike responded. He felt more relaxed than he had in months. He _felt_ about sixteen, horny as hell again already, but willing to just neck all night. _So doomed_ , he thought. If he even tried to contemplate what Vicki and Henry together—

He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, and Henry pulled back, grinning.

"So," Henry said again, "do you really think this is what Vicki had in mind?"

Mike groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the couch. "Actually, it wouldn't surprise me a bit." He squeezed Henry's thigh. "This doesn't mean I like you, you know," his words belied by his tone.

"Oh, of course not," Henry said, more laughter in his voice.

"She said you didn't mind sharing," Mike said. He opened one eye to see how Henry reacted.

Henry nodded, musingly. "That's true, in general. It depends on the circumstances. How about you?"

"I've never been any good at it, when it mattered. Neither has Vicki." He paused. "I guess we'll have to learn."

"I'd like that," Henry said, simple as that.

"So, do you think you'll stay?" Mike knew he wasn't asking just for Vicki anymore, and he knew the answer was important. At some point in the last day, he'd given up the pretenses, so it was a relief when Henry nodded.

"I'll stay," Henry said. "For now."

Since now was all any of them had, it was enough.

 


End file.
